Star Ghoul
by Luki Dimension
Summary: Peter knows his father wasn't human. It's just not common knowledge that his mother wasn't either.


_Okay, so this was something I was playing with whenever I was bored of working on KHR fic, and I was hoping to turn it into a multi-chapter piece...but it's basically just been collecting dust on Tumblr so thought I'd just post the first chapter as a finished piece instead._

 _Please note that I haven't stayed up to date or even watched Tokyo Ghoul in a very long time, so things may not be fully accurate._

* * *

 **Star Ghoul**

From the day he was old enough to talk, Peter knew he was special.

His grandfather said he was impossible. His aunt said he was a miracle. But his mother just called him her little Star-Lord. A perfect billion-to-one chance made when she fell for a man made of stardust.

The normal, human people of their little town chalked her musings up to the tumour in her brain, but their family knew differently. They knew the taste of human flesh, and Peter's blood tasted of ghoul and burning suns. Whatever Meredith Quill had fallen for, it hadn't been human, but had survived incubation in a ghoul's womb all the same.

As a half breed, he only had one real eye, but in exchange, Peter could do things other ghouls couldn't. He could heal a little faster and he could beat up all the other kids in the family, even the ones almost five years older than him, but unless he was at home, there was no letting anyone see. Humans wouldn't understand, and his mother had already brought attention to them with her episodes. Peter had to be quiet and pretend to be human. Weak and frail and pretending the meat in his pocket was baloney and not the thigh of a man who committed suicide in the woods just outside town.

Then his mother died before he could summon up the courage to hold her hand, he was running onto the grass, a space ship was lifting him into the air, and it all suddenly ceased to matter.

* * *

Yondu Udonta was not a man who believed in fate. If there was a higher power deciding the path everyone decided to take, he'd be first in line to kill the bastard for the road one Centaurian had found himself walking down. No, he made his choices of his own free will. Stupid and naïve choices perhaps, but his all the same.

Yet the fact that Peter Jason Quill was the boy he chose to save out of all the kids he'd damned was either the greatest stroke of luck in the entire galaxy, or someone else was pulling strings.

The kid was a tiny scrap from a backwater planet that still thought the universe revolved around them. When Yondu picked him up, he'd expected a weak, sobbing, stubborn, and hopefully scrappy, brat that he'd have to work overtime to turn into a Ravager without his crew trying to mutiny.

Instead, he'd picked up the perfect little Ravager mascot.

Don't get him wrong, the boy **was** a sobbing, miserable little brat, made all the worse when they inserted the universal translator and made it clear he was never going home again, but the second the crew started their usual threats of eatin' their new cargo?

Yondu Udonta has seen plenty cargo people and recruits, and not a one _relaxed_ at the threat of being eaten, but that's what Peter Quill did. As if being eaten was a perfectly acceptable fate for a kid unable to keep up with adults.

Not that the boy had much to worry about on that end. Udonta figured he'd start him off soft, basic cleaning duties until they could get some muscle on him and start the heavy lifting and fighting lessons, tossing a mop in his hands and leaving him to it.

Yet within a week the kid had his section of the ship looking more spic and span than Yondu remembered it being when he'd first set foot in the Eclector. And in record time too. Nobody could figure out why a brat Quill's age could move faster than half a dozen other grunts, but it earned him the respect of the crew. A month in, the biggest dissenters who'd complained about keeping their new cargo instead of cashing in had shut up. At least, most of them.

Those on their own cleaning rosters didn't take kindly to a Terran brat making them look bad. Nobody in the Ravagers wanted the scut job, and it grated something fierce to clean up blood and dirt only to watch the boy wander through with his stupid music player halfway through and finished for the day, getting ready to explore the vents only he was small enough to navigate.

That choice in extra-curricular was why Yondu wasn't too worried about the more agitated Ravagers. No, he was more focused on trying to figure out how much Terrans were supposed to eat. The first day Quill had been on the ship proper, they'd all but shoved a tray of standard space-faring food and told him to figure out what he could and couldn't eat. Brat had tasted every single thing and spat every single morsel out, and hadn't been seen near the mess hall since. One would have thought kids would have needed to eat regularly (one of his siblings had nearly cleaned out their entire stock), but outside of water, no Ravager had seen Quill eat anything.

Quill however, didn't seem to think that was weird, and he was definitely more in the know about what was normal for Terrans, so unless Yondu found him collapsed and half-starved in a hallway somewhere, he wasn't going to press it.

In conclusion, the kid was a dutiful worker, surprisingly strong for his age, the perfect size for thieving, and cost next to nothing to keep alive. All in all, Yondu started to think this half-baked plan to keep the kid out of his Daddy's hands might actually work.

So naturally, that's when he learned just what he'd brought on board.

* * *

Two months into this life, and and Peter was so hungry it hurt.

He'd tried to ration what little flesh he'd had when he'd been abducted, but without any way to store the meat, he'd finished it off within a week. Seven weeks ago.

Right now, he felt like a man on a desert island, desperate for a drink of water and surrounded only by ocean. Humans, or terrans as the Ravagers called them, were not common in space, and Peter had no clue if he could eat an alien species. Admittedly, a lot of the Ravagers looked human enough to make eye want to shift, but he always managed to pull back.

His family didn't kill. Respectable ghouls don't hunt.

But it was getting harder and harder to remember that.

Growls whine from his stomach, but he forces himself to push it down, and dunks the sponge thing he's been given into the bucket so he can continue cleaning the wall. He much prefers cleaning when there's been a fight – they make him clean up the blood and sometimes he can take a lick without anyone noticing. It hasn't made him sick yet, but It's hardly a full meal.

Nobody has stabbed anybody in the past week though, so Peter is stuck scrubbing grease stains and gun residue from the walls. It's repetitive and he's getting slow cause he's getting weaker, but it keeps him from thinking about food.

He's so absorbed in the job, he doesn't hear the three men sneaking up on him until the boot slams into his ribs and sends him flying.

Hysterical laughter follows as he collapses to the ground, and he bares his teeth at the invaders. Burder, a beefy and hairy Hraxian, flanked by his two friends stroke minions, Kalls from Xandar and Gorming the, well, Peter's not sure, but he has gills and a weird facial ribbing that kind of makes it look as if he's been skinned at some point.

"You've been making us look bad brat" Burder warns, hand twirling in part of his beard. "Got the Captain on our backs every scut shift wanting to know how a scrawny kid like look manages to outperform three full grown men. We aint allowed back on guard duty unless we stop slackin' off."

Gorming scoffs. "We aint slackin. Worked last shift till my frackin fingers bled and you still pranced off as you please three hours early."

Burder gives a malicious grin as Peter stumbles up, glaring at them and fighting the urge to bare his fangs.

"It's not my fault you're slow" he mutters, eyes darting at the corridor and trying to figure out if he can make it past them.

He can't. Maybe last month, but he's running on fumes now. Even if he passed Burder, Kalls is deceptively quick when it comes to detaining small terrans.

Perhaps he should have made that calculation before he snarky remark, because Burder's going a remarkable shade of puce.

"Know what brat? Forget what Yondu said, I'm getting a taste of terran. Let's see if you move quite so fast if you're missing a few pieces."

He digs out a knife from his jacket, and descends while Kalls and Gorming take lookout, although they're keeping one eye on the spectacle in front of them. Kalls even licks his lips, and Peter looks away.

Burder had been threatening to eat him for weeks. Kalls and Gorming had been whining to the Captain for just a taste for nearly as long. Yondu had warned against killing Peter, but there had been nothing about severing limbs.

Technically, that wasn't an issue. Peter could regrow them quickly enough. But that's not really the point. They are going to _eat_ him. Even though they have plenty of food on the ship, they want to eat _him._

And that's just blatantly unfair. If he's edible, then Burder should be considered fair game too.

He knows his grandpa would be angry at him. His mother would be disappointed. They were respectable ghouls who didn't hunt, but went after those who were already dead.

But that was Earth, and this was space. The rules were different.

It wasn't wrong to kill in self-defence, right? It's not like he even knew if he could eat Burder – the man was a hraxian, not human – but he's going to hurt Peter if he doesn't stop him. Especially if the terran-eating Ravagers find out he can regenerate limbs within a day.

And he's so hungry…

As he struggles to sit up, he sees Burder descending upon him, knife raised. Almost without thinking, his right eye bleeds black, and his white rinkaku kagune emerges from his waist…

Yondu and Kraglin turn the corner just in time to see Burder impaled on the two glowing white tentacles growing from the Terran's back, and watch in stunned silence as the man's gurgling screams are cut short, tentacles shifting to take the shape of both a drill and a sword, body ripped apart and flesh splattering against the walls. Kalls and Gorming are both collapsed by the wall, staring in horror, but Yondu only has eyes for the Terran.

The tiny, weak little Terran with one red and black eye that's currently picking up a large chunk of Burder and biting into the flesh with a self-satisfied smile.

* * *

Things become a lot more complicated after that.

It takes some time to explain to the boy that no, the men weren't really going to eat you, it was meant to be funny. And then even longer to explain that no, they weren't upset that he'd killed Burder or started to eat him, because Ravagers understand self-defence and honestly if they'd had any idea just what they'd had on board they never would have joked about it in the first place.

On the boys side, he fills in the now painfully obvious blanks. He **is** Terran, just not 'human.' There's an additional sentient species living on Earth that goes to extreme lengths to hide themselves due to their nature. Ghouls – creatures that can only eat human flesh and nothing else.

Or possibly just sentient flesh, because Peter's been gnawing on a chunk of Burder's shoulder for this whole damn explanation. Which is something of a relief – hunting down Terran to feed _their_ Terran would have been more trouble than Yondu could ever write off to his crew, even if the brat only had to eat the equivalent of a corpse per month (he has men that can polish that off in day given half the chance).

The glowing limbs are part of his mother's heritage too (and boy does Yondu breathe a sigh of relief at that). The tentacles are something called 'kagune' and 'rinkaku' and have something to do with an additional organ that Peter clearly doesn't really understand himself, but emerge from his waist and can be shifted into basic weaponry and tools depending on what Peter needs.

He's already small and skinny, good for stealing what the Ravagers can't quite manage, but the concept that the kid's a predator – with a built in offensive system to take down sentient opponents, well, that makes him all the more valuable.

And makes sure every Ravager on board gives the boy a very wide berth. Two days later, Cook gets a brand new refrigerator for Quill's 'leftovers.'

There's no talk of eating him again.

* * *

The Ravagers, survivors at their core, had quickly realised that making sure Quill was kept well fed was in their best interests. While Yondu and Kraglin hammered in basic thieving and the art of 'no-gooding' into their newest protégé, the Ravagers made a point of dragging home at least a pound of flesh from their jobs. Between security guards, rival mercenaries, the odd bar fight and the markets that catered to truly 'unique' tastes, Peter could almost go gourmet – the joy that comes from finding a new species that tastes edible is an elation that can't be matched.

It's two years before Yondu is ready to let Quill out on a genuine mission. He makes certain the boy knows how to aim a gun and pilot a ship well enough to avoid crashing it before he's out of Yondu's sight. The kagune is to stay out of sight unless Peter has no other option. Peter's been in enough 'friendly' brawls on the Eclector for Yondu to know if he goes all out, he'll make literal mincemeat out of anyone who gets in his way…but the sooner people find out about the junior crimson clan members secret, the quicker they'll learn to counter him.

It's something of a testament to Yondu's abilities that Peter's talents aren't more well known until his in his mid-teens. He's on the hook for petty theft and 'possible' manslaughter, but so far his record doesn't hold a single case of cannibalism or desecration of corpses – his most impressive achievement comes from tasting the flesh of a Granmosian Duchess in a perfectly acceptable way had she not been engaged (and, you know, royalty) at the time. It helps that anyone who sees his kagune doesn't live much longer after that.

That all changes when he's seventeen. Yondu has set his sights on the Termifillia Clora's Art Gallery – two years ago an archeological dig had uncovered not only the tomb of one of the most infamous rulers in their history, but the several tons of treasure that was buried with them. All the pieces have been donated to the public gallery, includinkg a ceremonial necklace that a private buyer is willing to pay a significant number of credits to obtain.

They decide to grab the piece before it's delivered. The security is mostly prepared for theft attempts in transit or at the gallery, because until that time it's being held in a VC-22 Void Safe – considered unbreakable, even after 5 years on the market. Even the Ravager's best safecrackers have thrown up their collective hands, they don't have the skills to pull it off.

But Peter has a lethal shapeshifting tentacle that can, and has, penetrated some of the strongest alloys Yondu can get his hands on. Puberty and an exotic diet has evolved Peter from a scrawny midget into a lean, muscular beanpole, and his kagune has grown along with him. They won't know until he's in front of the real thing, but all evidence suggests Peter wont need to crack the safe – he'll break it right open.

It's a very good plan. The only problem? Their inside man neglects to mention the additional security the gallery calls in for the last 48 hours.

Yondu is outside, keeping their exit route safe, and none of the Ravagers on Quill's team have a ranged weapon that can match the number of guns aimed their way. One of them, a less than patient nutjob had gone at one of the guards with his knife. Two seconds later he's little more than chunks of flesh at the hands of gravity pulse rifle.

The guards close in, and Quill can feel their opportunity slipping away. He's never had a major criminal conviction, but he highly doubts Yondu will waste anytime posting bail.

He can see cuffs coming towards him. There's seconds to make a decision.

Don't reveal unless you have any other choice.

His eye glows black, and the Ravagers in view pale and arch away as much as they can without bolting. The guards only have seconds to process the reaction, before they see the glowing light coming from the teen.

Most of them don't even get the chance to scream before the kagune tore through them. The second the guns are out of the way, most of the Ravagers set upon the guards that are still kicking, while a small handful start shooting the security cameras still functioning.

Smart idea, if utterly pointless now. Whoever watches the footage is going to see Peter's kagune in all its bloody glory. Peter lets them have their fun, grabbing an arm and taking a bite as he enters the safe room.

Cloran is spicy, good to know.

And Yondu was right on the money. Peter destroys the VC-22 Void as if it's made of low grade aluminium.

* * *

Two days after the heist, the Ravagers discover the bounty on their rookie. It's almost as high as Yondu's.

The Centaurian just laughs and buys him a drink.

* * *

By the time Peter is 28, he's been a Ravager most of his life, killed and devoured dozens the job, and his name sends many a security squad into fits of panic. Every major planet in the galaxy gets a dozen warnings and procedures should they ever arrest him. Nobody has had much luck so far, but every law enforcement is both desperate to catch him, and desperate to **not** be the ones that do it.

Peter Quill is a name breathed in frantic whispers, proof of how dangerous uncivilised planets on the edge of the universe can be. Yondu might be the most infamous and terrifying crimson clad Ravager, but Peter is a close second – Kraglin's not exactly elated about that, but considering he doesn't have anything but excellent aim with a blaster going for him, he can understand the bias. It's hard to compete with tentacle wielding cannibal in terms of baddassary.

* * *

Peter realises that he's pretty unique even for a half breed. At the end of the day, Peter Jason Quill is a 28 year old ghoul who hasn't tasted human flesh in decades. That's something no ghoul has ever been able to say.

Granted, it's not like he's been starving - it's getting harder and harder to find an alien he hasn't tasted. Between the Ravager infighting and targets taken down on missions, especially once it stopped being important to hide his abilities. He's managed to taste just about every major alien race available. He's capable of devouring mammalian species only – anything that lays eggs or has one too many scales is off limits. He's learned xandarian is chewier than you'd think, that pluvian has to be cooked in order to be edible, Krylorian is both bitter and sweet, and despite their physical differences, kree tastes the closest to human that he's ever found. His tiny ice box on the Milano is full of small slabs from different species, colour coordinated for his ease (labels are just asking for unwanted questions, should his ship ever get impounded).

It's part of the reason he can't quite bring himself to go back to Earth. His family weren't hunters, and he's not ready to face their disappointment at his full larder. Ironically, the Ravagers understand this better than his own kind ever could, and part of him feels guilty that he's started to pull away from them.

But…Peter wants more than this. His mother was his age when she died – her life snuffed out by a disease no ghoul should ever get – her only accomplishment a miracle half breed who'd spent his life doing nothing but cataloguing exotic meats. If Peter died tomorrow, he'd burn under the Colours of Ogord and vanish from history. His mother's memory deserves better.

So when Yondu starts arranging the retrieval of an orb with a six figure sum attached to it…Peter takes the opportunity for what it is. That kind of cash can set a guy up good. It's enough to put together his own crew, pay off a few officials to help him go legit – hell, maybe just go have the best damn vacation ever for six months. It's a life changing number, and Peter Quill is ready for a life change.

Perhaps it's time for a name change too. Maybe he can bury Quill the Cannibal Ravager and give life to Star Lord. His mother's memory deserves him to at least try.

* * *

It probably says a lot about his upbringing that one of Peter's first thoughts when walking in between the talking raccoon and the tree was whether or not they were edible. Gamora almost certainly was (and he would happily taste her Gramosian Duchess style if he wasn't certain she'd cut off parts of his anatomy not easily regenerated if he tried) but those two were the ultimate question marks. Groot didn't technically have any flesh, but alien species ate plants all the time right? And he grew back limbs about as fast as Peter could – maybe this was the first opportunity he'd get to have a salad? Rocket on the other hand…if his brain was the product of scientific experiments, would it count? Was it the IQ that tenderised the flesh or was it evolutionary?

It was something that would never really be answered. Although he's relatively certain he can break out on his own (credit to Xandar, they've devised an impressive cuff that affixes to his waist, but he can already tell it'll shatter with enough initiative), he needs Gamora to find a buyer for his orb, and Rocket was most likely their group ticket out of the Kyln and therefore needed all his pieces (and best friend) intact. Besides the raccoon had a viciously sharp tongue and liked to hum when he was planning things, two traits Peter had always valued highly.

Thankfully, Gamora is happy enough to go along with the plan, but it's clear she doesn't want to be near him without a blade in hand. Considering that the second they fly out on the Milano, Rocket keeps one hand on a blaster whenever Quill is in the room, it's a mutual feeling from his newfound allies.

* * *

A day later, and he's staring a Kree fanatic that just took a moon-wrecking shot to the chest and barely flinched. Drax is hanging in the air by his throat, and Quill feels the tendrils uncurl in his back preparing to unleash his kagune in one last ditch effort to stop this psycho. They strike the krees face, sending the alien flying back, Drax falling to the ground and choking on the air. Quill lunges forward, only to feel his tentacle strike the hammer, and shriek as light and formless skin just _shatter_.

He digs in his heels and throws himself backwards, bringing his kagune close. It'll heal, but it's not responding the way it should be – he can't even retract it, leaving him lopsided while Ronan descends upon him, hammer raised to the sky.

Then a raccoon crashes a ship through the window and they suddenly have bigger problems to worry about. Groot sacrifices himself to keep them alive, but every bone in Quill's body is screaming when they finally hit the ground. In the distance he can hear the dulcet tones of his music player, but the predator instincts that are never far from the surface tense. It's not surprising when his nose picks up the scent of kree, and he finds himself staring at Ronan, bruised and battered but still alive and in possession of an infinity stone. He tosses a furious Rocket to the side, and Quill sees the raccoon desperately try to piece together his gun. On his opposite, Gamora is struggling to her feet, unable to do much, while Xandarians huddle around and weep.

Rocket's trying, but the gun didn't work before. Everyone's hurt, but Peter's a ghoul, and there's enough strength left to release his kagune. One tentacle is out of commission, drooped to his side, but the other might just be enough. That's what Yondu would expect him to do, what the Ravagers have done in order to achieve their goals. What Peter has done with his back to the wall a dozen times before.

Or…

Rocket's almost done…he can hear the song in the air…and he smiles.

No, he's not doing this the Ravager way, the ghoul way. He's doing this the Star-Lord way.

At least if he fails, when he sees his mother again, he can say he _tried._

" _Oooh child, things are gonna get easier…"_


End file.
